


when all is done (arc towards the sun)

by growlery



Series: the scene is dead (long live the scene) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Slam Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven's having a shitty, shitty day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when all is done (arc towards the sun)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/gifts).



> for the prompt _subtle kindnesses_. I had some feelings, and this is kind of more about those feelings than the prompt, but it's definitely there. title's from don't carry it all by the decemberists.

Raven's having a shitty, shitty day. 

It's nothing in particular, but things are piling up; she's got a big project due, she was short on rent this month so Clarke had to cover her, her leg's been acting up so she's had to use her cane a lot more, she bumped into Finn as she was coming out of a class she's always hated, and she hasn't had time to see Bellamy in fucking forever. 

It's not a big deal. She's just been busy; he's been even busier, preparing his students for their upcoming exams. It's just that she doesn't know if they have the kind of relationship where she can text him things like _I miss you_ and _come spend time with me_ , and she doesn't have time to worry about whatever kind of relationship they actually _do_ have. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that it's working and she's happy and Bellamy looks at her like- like something out of a poem, Jesus, it makes her feel sick and terrified and also like she could take the stars right out of the sky and hold them in her arms. 

It's just- she's just having a shitty day. That's all. It doesn't help that she's got a show tonight, and performing rates somewhere below pulling out her own teeth on the list of things she wants to do right now. It's still above staying in the library all night to work on the project, so she gets her stuff packed up and heads down for the start of the show.

It goes- well, it goes. She gets out the first line, then falters, every word that follows suddenly gone from her mind. There's an awkward pause, and then from a few rows back, Raven hears Octavia shout out the next line of the poem. Raven grins, all teeth, and on her next inhale, spits out the next line, and then the next one, and then the next one, and then she's done, panting ragged breaths, nails digging into her palms, applause ringing in her ears. 

Gina's got a shot waiting when Raven pushes her way through the crowd to get to the bar, and she gives Raven a sympathetic smile as Raven knocks it back. 

“So do you want to talk about it,” Gina says, “or do you want me to just supply you with alcohol and leave you to your misery?”

Raven shakes her head violently. “Alcohol,” she says, and doesn't think about how she needs to do groceries this week. Even if she felt like she could take Clarke up on her offer to share food, Raven's not entirely sure Clarke knows what a vegetable is, or if she's ever even encountered a complex carbohydrate. 

It turns out not to matter, because as Raven's digging through her purse, someone comes up behind her and puts a hand on the small of her back, says, “Hey, let me get it.”

Raven stiffens, but doesn't wrench out of the grip like she wants to. Instead, she says, “Thanks,” then takes the drink and disappears into the crowd, Gina's muffled laughter audible behind her. 

*

Raven wakes up in Bellamy's bed, and for a moment, she has no idea how she got there. 

Then she remembers the drinks, remembers Gina's firm hands on her shoulders, remembers giving the cab driver Bellamy's address instead of her own, remembers the only barely coherent argument with herself that preceded it – it's closer, it'll be cheaper, Bellamy won't mind, but, _but_ – remembers Bellamy's soft face when he opened the door and saw her there. 

She's curled around him, face pressed into his neck, one arm around his waist pulling him tight to her. She doesn't remember that. She's still wearing all her clothes, but not her brace, and she doesn't remember that, either. Closing her eyes, she imagines Bellamy carefully undoing it with one hand, holding her up with the other, and if she concentrates hard enough, it almost feels like a memory. 

There's a glass of water on the bedside table, some painkillers, and Raven shifts as gently as she can to get to them. She swallows a pill dry, then drains the glass, anyway. It takes her a minute to peel off her jeans, teeth gritted, and then she pulls her shirt over her head, tosses it across the room, before returning to the bed to curl back around Bellamy's body, let her eyes drift close. 

When she wakes up again, she's curled around nothing but air. Bellamy's sitting at his desk, frowning over what's probably a stack of grading. Raven sits up, and Bellamy glances up at her, smirk already forming on his face. 

“Fun night?” he asks. Raven barely manages a groan, and the smirk abruptly disappears. “Bad night?”

“Bad _week_ ,” Raven says, “bad month, bad fucking year, I just-” She expels a breath, sharp. “It's just so much, all the time. It's so much, and I can't-” Her voice catches, and she swallows before it turns into a dry sob. “Fuck. Sorry.” She covers her face with her hands, wishes vaguely for a swift, painless death. “I shouldn't have come here last night.”

“Shut up,” Bellamy says, and, “Do you want toast? I'm gonna make toast.”

A lump wells up in Raven's throat. She doesn't know if she hates him or if she wants to drag him back to bed, keep him there until the noise in her head goes quiet. 

“No butter,” she says, and he inclines his head like _of course_.


End file.
